


PTSD

by MissMonie



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Don't Judge Me, Grief/Mourning, I'm new at this, M/M, decepticons don't grieve, internal grieving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMonie/pseuds/MissMonie
Summary: No one ever said emotions were easy, and Knock Out had never had the best of role models.





	PTSD

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanficton before, so this was my first. I hope the terms aren't too wonky...

Was he really such a bad mech? Primus seemed to think so. Sure, he was arrogant, vain, sadistic, and a complete narcissist, but that was no reason to punish him like that. Knock Out let out a soft vent as he punched in the code to the medbay, it had been a long cycle. One of the endless kinds he had been experiencing since...since Breakdown didn’t come back.

It was difficult, keeping his pristine face preening and showing as little feel for his partner’s offlining as he could. Decepticons didn’t show fondness or affection, well, Dreadwing did, but he was old and more intimidating. The very idea boggled Knock Out’s processors as he moved towards his quarters in the back of the medbay. Dreadwing had been allowed, openly consoled as best a ‘con could, about Skyquake’s demise. Yet, here he was, hiding the sparkache of his loss. He supposed no one ever said existence or emotions were easy.

Once inside his room, _their room,_ Knock Out settled on the berth, legs crossed. His tire struts sagged at his back, and he hung his helm, ruby optics on the floor. Right about now, Breakdown would be fetching the wax and his buffer. He missed the way he made him feel, how he gleamed under his partner’s talented hands.

“Primus,” he grunted, delicate vocalizer rough as static crept in, “what a way to think of you, darling.”  
Maybe he was a bad mech. It seemed he missed what Breakdown did more than the mech himself. No, that wasn’t true. While he did miss the things, it wasn’t them alone he missed. It was the fact he did them. The fact it was Breakdown lovingly buffering Starscream’s over indulgent scratches from his chest, or how he carefully replaced his door when Optimus Prime tore it off. How he would hold him at the start of recharge. How, even when Breakdown returned with just one amber optic, he still looked on Knock Out with trust. With kindness. With love.

Some said Decepticons weren’t meant to feel love or honest loyalty. That they were monsters. Only Autobots felt campy, good feelings like that. But, before they were ‘cons and ‘bots, they had been Cybertronians. A war could turn thoughts, twist processors, but it could only change the bot inside if they let it. Megatron and Optimus were testaments to that.

“I often wonder,” Knock Out felt speaking aloud would ease the ache in his sparkchamber, “what would have happened if we chose the other team.”

Breakdown had been a Wrecker once, he recalled. The animosity he held for them was surprising, and the way he spoke after Bulkhead, his worst enemy of all, had saved him from MECH, left the red medic wondering about his loyalty. Granted, he was the only medic aboard the Nemesis, but he didn’t care that much. He and Breakdown had been partners for vorns. Where one went, the other followed right behind.  
Not that being Chief Medical Officer mattered that much either. Scrap, it didn’t even seem to protect him from the battlefield! Not that he had minded too much going on missions with Breakdown. Now, a fight with the Autobots did worry him for his finish, but he always knew no matter how beaten they were, how angry Megatron seemed, he had Breakdown. That realization hurt the most.

He sighed, shifting on the berth to ease back. Outside, he wore a different faceplate. On the bridge, he was that cocky, smirking Aston Martin everyone loved to hate. In the medbay, his territory, he was the smug surgeon, content to prod wounds as readily as he was to mend them. After all, he had more experience (fun) taking bots apart. Breakdown had understood his tendencies, enjoyed them. He often wondered if their names should have been reversed. Knock Out seemed unamused by the notion. He _was_ a knockout, after all.

The thought brought a smile to his lipplates. Breakdown said the funniest scrap in their private quarters. Without the prying eyes of their “comrades”, they were simply two mechs. Granted that wasn’t entirely true since Knock Out was known for his random bouts of dominating behavior, but in the same time, Breakdown would and more often than not, did, turn the tables. Despite the little secret of how strong the medic was, Breakdown knew just how to handle him. 

A fact Knock Out missed. With another sigh, he shifted his back wheels. He missed the gentle touch of Breakdown’s thick servos, that teasing brush of his glossa as it begged him to open his panels. How he slipped his spike oh so sinfully slow into his valve before ramming him with everything he had. How-frag...he was getting wet. Too much reminiscing. 

“It is quite amusing,” Knock Out said, voice crisp despite the slow crackle of static in his vocalizer, “that most call me selfish. Of all the battles you survived, all the times I welded you back together, it took a disgusting Insecticon wannabe to bring you down.” His optics stung a bit, washer fluid daring to leak free. “Darling, how could you?”

Nothing seemed to matter aboard the warship anymore. Life had lost some of its sparkle, if not all of it. Sure, he held himself together in front of the others, but deep inside his processor, he ached. It had opened an idea, one he thought he’d never consider. He had joined the Decepticons because at the time, they were the winning team, but now, he worried. They had started strong, outnumbering the few Autobots on this miserable planet, and only managed to kill one. One. One to the hundreds of Vehicons, Eradicons, and whatever ‘con have you. One. That certainly didn’t seem like the winning team to him. If anything, it made him wonder what they were doing wrong. Five Autobots to the hundreds of Decepticons. Maybe they could use a sixth.

::Knock Out to bridge::

Soundwave’s message flashed across his field as he forced himself to sit up. He shook the thoughts from his processor, saving them in the back for later when he lingered on the first stage of recharge. He had to go out, he had to pretend. Decepticons did not mourn, Decepticons did not love. Fixing his trademark smirk, Knock Out strode out of the medbay, the only slightest hitch in his pedes, the tiniest glint of hurt in his optics.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a week and a half ago, and just now managed to get an AO3 account. It was on my dA first. I wrote it pretty quick after binge reading a HUGE amount of KOxBD fics and crying my eyes out...
> 
> So it had me wondering about Knock Out, and how he chose to grieve. Given his character, I kinda pegged him for one of those internal grievers who pretends everything is A-Okay on the outside while being a barely contained mess on the inside. The episode where he was given free reign over Silas kinda cemented that for me. He was pretty mad.   
> Anyways, this was my first time writing fanfiction. I usually work with OC's of mine or friends, but this was really fun. I kind of want to make more either of this vein or do an entire Knock Out and Breakdown story line. I don't know yet. I'm not comfortable with the terms just yet. But, we'll see what happens in the future, yeah?


End file.
